HPAS And The Ghost of Salus Frisk
by Bobmetric
Summary: We all know the story of the little boy who grew up at No.4 Privet Drive. This is not his story. This is the story of a group of people who just wanted to get through their seven years at Hogwarts without event. This is the HPAS.
1. Introduction

Dear Reader,

We are already aware of the epic narrative that surrounds the young boy at Number Four, Privet Drive – who one day received a letter that changed his life. But what of all the other little boys and girls who recieved similar letters? What of the ones who could not afford the fees of a Public School, let alone one that only accepts boarders? What of the Muggle-borns with no Hagrid to show them the way? What of the students that aren't in Gryffindor or followers of Draco Malfoy? What of the neurotic, the unbalanced, the paranoid? What of the poor, malnourished muggle-born standing in the doorway with wide, teary eyes and a terrified face? What of the people who just want to survive their time in school without losing an arm, leg or least of all their life? Well, we can't answer all of these questions, but we're gonna give it a darn good try – this is the HPAS, looking forward to the next seven years.

P.S. Medea sends you hugs and kisses xx


	2. Chapter One: The Other Boy

Chapter One – The Other Boy

_Nearly ten years had passed since the Dursleys had woken up to find their nephew on the front step, but Privet Drive had hardly changed at all. The sun rose on the same tidy front gardens and lit up the brass number four on the Dursleys' front door; it crept into their living-room, which was almost exactly the same as it had been on the night when Mr. Dursley had seen that fateful news report about the owls. Only the photographs on the mantelpiece really showed how much time had passed. Ten years ago, there had been lots of pictures of what looked like a large pink beach ball wearing different coloured bobble hats – but Dudley Dursley was no longer a baby, and now the photographs showed a large, blond boy riding his first bicycle, on a roundabout at the fair, playing a computer game with his father, being hugged and kissed by his mother. The room held no sign at all that another boy lived in the house, too. _

_Yet Harry Potter was still there, asleep at the moment, but not for long..._1But, of course, you know all this. On that basis, we are going to withdraw our attention from Harry Potter and move some fifty feet to the right and to one Number Twelve, Privet Drive – in which (if we follow up the stairs and into the smallest bedroom) we find another young boy, sleeping unaware of the turmoilous years that lie ahead of him. He sleeps, fitfully grasped by dreams, but sleeps nonetheless. There is much to say about this boy, this Norman Bond, but where do we start?

Norman Bond was a short, plump eleven-year-old with a passion for adventure...that is, any adventure that could be entered via the aid of a computer screen. His parents neither spoilt nor neglected him, and although he was slightly overweight he was healthy and ate all of his vegetables from his plate. His crowning glory was a mane of chocolate curls that hung around his face, contrasting shingly with his pale, screen-bleached skin. His eyes, mostly shadowed by his wayward tresses, were a haunted blank amber that peered warily through thick lashes and from under dark brows. A sort of nervous twitch afflicted his left eye, especially when...that name...was mentioned. His lips, too, were full – yet twitched fretfully at the mere suggestion of...that name. Indeed, Norman would have been a handsome figure, were it not for his compulsive stress-eating due to the inflictions that...he...had caused upon the poor boy's life.

You see, ...he... had always been there to torment poor Norman's existence.

The son of an accountant and piano teacher, Norman had been born into the comfortable, middle-class setting of Little Whinging, Surrey. The first few years of his life were uneventful and happy, spent in play with his cousin, Ferne, and full of her odd stories of magic and monsters. The two would spend their days planning elaborate adventures and stalking wild animals (Mrs. Figg's cats) across ravaged landscapes and tropical jungles (the gardens of Number Fourteen and Number Ten, respectively). All was smiles and happiness until the fateful day that his parents decided it was time for Norman to start attending Nursery School. It was that day that Norman's future changed forever, the day that his path was first crossed by...Harry Potter.

As the years passed, the boys began to mature and grow into power that neither would ever have guessed was possible – both boys were surrounded by strange occurrences, unexpected talents and surprising events. As these occurrences became more frequent, however, a pattern started to emerge. Whether he knew it or not, Harry Potter began to target Norman Bond with a steady predictability that, in light of the latter boy's growing paranoia and in his own personal opinion, defied chance. It may, of course, merely been like seeking out like – and was most likely completely unconscious on the part of the bespectacled boy, but all Norman knew was that when Harry Potter was around, he would always end up in trouble.

A few particular instances of this cruel and unsolicited targeting should be singled out for observation. On one occasion, after clambering up to the school roof in order to retrieve a ball, Norman suddenly found himself surrounded by a gang of violent bullies led by Dudley Dursley. In his rage, Dudley had taken his frustrations out on the shell-shocked Norman – who could only watch as Harry Potter looked down at him from the school roof. Harry, of course, had been punished for the climbing of School buildings – but Norman had gone home that day with bruised skin and a broken nose.

On another occasion Norman had left for school happily looking forward to the school sports fair – not because he particularly enjoyed sport, but because he knew that (as Dudley would probably steal his P.E. kit) Harry would not be taking part. The elation, however, was short lived. Upon entering the changing rooms, Norman opened his bag to discover that his kit had gone missing, replaced instead with a real, poisonous pet tarantula (slightly squished by large hands). Norman had ended up in an Ambulance, while Harry happily sucked on a 'well-done-for-taking-part' mini-milk, dressed in a suspiciously familiar P.E. uniform.

I could go on to list many more instances of this targeting, but to do so would be like a broken pencil – pointless. Instead, in the knowledge of the presence that has haunted Norman these past years, we shall return to the present day as the boy begins to stir in his sleep, awoken by the organ sounds of Bach's _Toccata and Fuge in D minor _drifting across the landing from his mother's teaching room.

***

Norman Bond trudged sleepily down the stairs and into the kitchen, where a highly excited young girl was awaiting him eagerly.

"Nooooormaaaa-" she cried, energetically, running to hug him. He gave her a look. "-n?" Slightly ashamed at her improper outburst, the girl decided to avoid all awkwardness and left the room. A few minutes later she returned with exaggerated indifference. "Oh, hi Norm – didn't see you there. Good morning. Guess what?"

Rather bemused, but not taken aback by his cousin's actions; Norman contemplated the situation carefully. His cousin was dressed in combats and a t-shirt, her mousy-brown hair pulled back into a messy bun – _No change there_ – yet there was something different about her...ah, there it was – her hair was lacking its usual ornamentation of _leaf a'la branch_, and her eyes were gleaming with excitement.

"Good morning, Fernilia." Norman's use of his cousin's full name caused her to bristle. "Taking from the fact that you seem highly energised and excited about something, and as it is you, I deduce that this something must be to do with animals (otherwise you wouldn't even be paying attention), and for some reason your mum (otherwise you wouldn't have bothered pulling the leafs out of your hair). Whatever it is, the answer's no."

"Oh come _on_, Norma – you _never_ like to do _anything_ anymore. If you had your way you'd live the rest of your life like _Oracle_ or something – all tucked away playing _Neverwinter Nights_ or whatever. You need to get _out_ more – there's a whole world full of interesting animals yet to be discovered! Real life is definitely much better than computer games."2 Norman looked at her resentfully.

"You can't cast a Level 9 Power Word O' Kill in real life"

"...well-"

"FERNILIA BAGLEY!" The girl froze mid sentence as a woman's voice echoed through the room. A shadow had appeared in the doorway: it was large and female- a shape that, in this house, could only suggest Fernilia's mother. A large and forbidding figure, Mrs. Bagley came from a long line of well-built, no-nonsense women. She had married Mr. Bagley (a field-zoologist) much to the amazement of her friends and family, as so many had pointed out he was the complete opposite of the large woman who now blocked the doorway. Jeffrey Bagley was scrawny, peaceable and extremely absent-minded, while his wife was large, stern and extremely sensible. One would have imagined that they would get on each other's nerves no end, but for some reason they had managed to fall in love, gotten married and had produced their daughter, Fernilia (who would much rather have been named Ferne) all within eighteen months of meeting each other. All this, however, is beside the point. What currently mattered was that Austeria Bagley was standing in the doorway to the kitchen and visibly fuming. "I THOUGHT I TOLD YOU TO BEHAVE YOURSELF TODAY!! DO YOU OR DO YOU NOT WANT TO GO TO THE ZOO?!"

Norman smiled as circumstances dropped into place.

"Ah," he sighed knowingly "the Zoo." He accompanied this world-weary exhalation with a knowledgeable look towards his cousin. She had the grace to at least blush.

"Mu-um....It's not like he won't find ou-"

"FERNILIA!"

"But he's a-"

"FERNILIA BAGLEY! ONE MORE WORD OUT OF YOU AND SO HELP ME-"

"Ah, Austeria." A quiet, motherly voice chose this moment to interrupt. Mrs. Bagley moved aside to reveal Norman's mother who sported the bemused expression of a person who had obliviously walked mid-way into an argument. "It was so kind of you to offer to take the children to the Zoo – I worry about my dear little Gnomie when I'm teaching all day. He just gets so lonely..."

"Mu-um..."

"I mean, he spend all day locked up in that room of his – the poor boy has probably never even seen the sun!"

"Mu-_um..._" Norman interjected.

"Why, yesterday he must have spent the whole day on that blasted 'computer' of his. It was _so_ generous of you to offer to take him outside!"

"Well, Susan, it's the least I could do when you've looked after Fernilia all these times..." There was a certain air of amiable hostility between the women, Lord knows why. The two mothers had been like this for as long as the cousins could remember, competing in a docile, friendly manner – usually by child-watching for each other. Apparently it stemmed back to when, upon first meeting her husband's twin sister, Austeria had managed to offend her in some way (although the offence itself is forever lost to the mists of time – it can be safely assumed that it had something to do with announcing her engagement to Susan's beloved brother).

Norman had zoned out for a moment or two, entranced by the actions of his cousin who, realising that no one was watching her, had taken something from her mother's pocket and had begun pulling a face of rather extreme concentration. Zoning back in he was just about to voice his intent _not_ to go to the zoo, however when he opened his mouth the only sound that emitted was a croaky, bird-like shriek.

"Pkwaaark!" His mother regarded the mortified boy with the painfully embarrassing sympathy that only a mother can show, shooed him upstairs to get dressed, and then turned to her sister-in-law (who if it was at all possible looked even more stone-faced than usual).

"It seems like he's an early developer-" She began, at which point Ferne burst into peals of uncontrollable laughter and her mother looked, if at all possible, even more annoyed.

***

"_We're goin' to the zoo, zoo, zoo_

_How about you, you, you?_

_You can come too, too, too_

_We're goin' to the zoo, zoo, zoo."_

Ferne's off-key voice resonated with the metal frame of her mother's cheap - I mean *affordable*- car to alarming effect. Norman was considering what frequency his cousin would reach before the car actually exploded when his aunt swerved erratically to overtake a shiny company car. This resulted in Ferne herself erratically swerving across the middle seat and whacking her elbow into his ear. The resulting pain, he mused, would not have been so bad – if his brain wasn't already aching from the aural assault. Norman would have liked to say that this experience was entirely new – but that would be a lie. Sadly, these occurrences were entirely typical of any journey undertaken in his aunt's small car.

If Austeria Bagley was stern and rule abiding, her driving was the complete opposite. Norman had heard of the term 'road rage', and for a short while had suspected his aunt of suffering from such an affliction. Upon further observation, however, he came to the conclusion that this term lacked something in the description of his aunt's behaviour. The moment that Austeria Bagley closed the driver's door her whole personality seemed to change. For apparently no reason at all, his aunt would lose all the logic and stern composure that she usually exhibited, and instead she would become a queer mix of excited and terrified that resulted in jittery use of the acceleration and brake pedals and an almost spasm-like use of the steering wheel. The combination of these actions with the small, cramped space of her car – and (thought Norman as he shifted uncomfortably) the hard, plasticy seats – meant that any trip Norman took with his aunt at the wheel left him feeling battered and bruised.

After what seemed like a rather painful eternity, Austeria sharply drew the car into a parking space and ushered the two youngsters towards the gates of the Zoo. She seemed to have some sort of mix-up with a foreign currency that she attempted to pay the kiosk-worker with, but eventually she managed to find the correct assortment of notes and coins to gain an adult and two children entry. The bemused employee stamped each of their hands with a blurred pink unidentifiable animal and Ferne immediately darted off to the nearest enclosure, her chiding mother at her heels. Not wanting to be left behind, Norman scurried after his relatives – helplessly trying to avoid getting caught in the steady flow of people that flooded the area.

Everything was going well, really - if you ignored the heaving masses of people and the interchangeable screaming children. Ferne happily led the way in their progress through the park – dragging her companions from enclosure to enclosure; studying each animal with interest and carefully reading the information plaques out loud to her mother and cousin. She was practically glowing, she was having so much fun. There had been an almost-incident at the Penguin Pool where Norman had started to hyperventilate, convinced that one of the 'beady-eyed devils' was staring at him, much to Ferne's amusement and Norman's later torment - but other than that the day was going fairly smoothly. Fairly smoothly, that is, until Ferne decided that it was time to visit the Reptile House.

Now, Norman Bond – as we have ascertained – was a young man of an entirely nervous disposition, living his life in the painful aftermath of 'him' who Ferne would jokingly call "He-who-must-not-be-named", much to her mother's anger. So, when a large Brazilian Boa Constrictor slithered past him upon the opening of the Reptile House door, shocked would be an understatement in the description of his reaction. Let me describe the scene that befell poor Norman's eyes as he opened that door:

Chaos filled the small, dark building that was the Reptile House. The humid air hung heavily as people bustled about in panic – strained voiced echoing off the glass tanks that housed the creatures. The epicentre of this panic centred around a tank that, instead of containing a relatively docile reptile, housed a rather wet and screaming boy. A _large_, wet and screaming boy. A large, wet and screaming boy who happened to live just down the street from Norman. And beyond the boy and his frantic parents stood an individual that inspired a second panic attack in poor Norman: there, standing right in the epicentre of the action - grinning like a buffoon - was Harry Potter.

***

The rest of that fateful day had passed as a blur for Norman. He vaguely remembered a struggling Ferne being pulled away from the rapidly escaping snake, who had then turned to the scene inside and started screaming something about one of the specimens being incorrectly labelled and being dragged home by her fuming mother. Dudley Dursley, she had quite accurately pointed out, may have been slimy and reptilian – but was much more of a pig than a snake.

His aunt had driven them back in a rage, and had sentenced her daughter to her room for a good month as punishment for her behaviour at the Zoo. Norman had met this news with elation, no Ferne meant no more 'adventures' outside; no more hours spent tracking and observing some poor neighbourhood pet, and – most importantly – no interruptions in his progress on his computer game. Norman confined himself to his own room, barring himself from the outside world and basking in the glow of the computer screen for days on end.

It was during one such session that Norman currently sat, tiredly hunched over his keyboard. The boy had stayed up all night in an attempt to clear a particular dungeon and was currently engaged in a fierce final battle that would be the deciding factor in whether he would be able to progress the game along or not. It was just as he dealt the finishing blow that his bedroom door burst open, drowning the room in the first natural light that it had seen in weeks.

"NORMAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAN!!!" A very excited ten year old girl had flung herself through the portal and was launching herself around the stunned boy's room with vigour. "They came, Normie, THEY CAME!" Confused, Norman looked at the item that his currently hyper younger cousin was brandishing: it appeared to be some sort of papery object. Wearily, Norman reached out and swiped the offending object from his cousin's hand, and as his much abused eyes adjusted to the natural light he began to notice that it was actually an envelope, addressed in green ink:

_Mr. Norman Bond;_

_The Darkest Bedroom;_

_12, Privet Drive;_

_Little Whinging;_

_Surrey_

Intrigued, Norman turned the envelope over and was surprised to find a wax seal on the join of the flap. Deciding to leave the inspection of the seal for a time when his eyes didn't hurt as much, Norman carefully slit open the envelope with a knife that he had brought up with some toast a few hours previously. He pulled out two sheets of heavy-feeling pa-…._was that parchment?_ Confusion and curiosity mounting, Norman began to read:

_HOGWARTS SCHOOL__OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY_

_Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore__  
__(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,__Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)__  
_

_Dear Mr. Bond,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.__  
__Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall__  
__Deputy Headmistress__  
_

In a state of utter confusion, Norman turned to the other sheet:

_UNIFORM__  
__First-year students will require:__  
__ sets of plain work robes (black)__  
__ plain pointed hat (black) for day wear__  
__ pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)__  
__ winter cloak (black, with silver fastenings)__  
__Please note that all pupil's clothes should carry name tags._

_COURSE BOOKS__  
__All students should have a copy of each of the following:_

_The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1)__  
__by Miranda Goshawk_

_A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot_

_Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling_

_A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch_

_One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi__  
__by Phyllida Spore_

_Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger_

_Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them__  
__by Newt Scamander_

_The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection__  
__by Quentin Trimble_

_OTHER EQUIPMENT_

_1 wand__  
__1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)__  
__1 set glass or crystal phials__  
__1 telescope__  
__1 set brass scales_

_Students may also bring and owl OR a cat OR a toad._

_PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS_

Norman turned his confused gaze to his cousin, who was leaning expectantly towards him.

"Don't you know what this means? We're going to Hogwarts together! You're a Wizard, Normie!"

With that, the exhaustion, the shock and the sheer confusion of the situation became too much for the boy and Norman Bond passed out in his chair.

* * *

1 _An extract from Pg 19 of 'Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone' by J., Ch 2, published by Bloomsbury, London, 1997, __ISBN 0747532745__. If you don't own it, BUY IT!_

2 The author of this chapter would like to point it out that she does not share this opinion...unless the person's seriously only living in an MMORPG....that's just eric* failure

*One step up from epic failure – you can't even spell epic right**

**Usually because of too much time writing in leet***

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	3. Chapter Two: Horizont Alley

**Chapter Two – Horizont Alley**

After the initial revelation (and subsequent passing out) Norman, convinced that this was all an elaborate prank set up by his cousin, was sat down by his aunt who carefully explained that he was, indeed, a wizard. She, herself, was a witch and worked for the Ministry of Magic as a liaison between the magical and what she called 'muggle' worlds (She was, she explained, head of the 'Muggle Worthy Excuse Committee' and was in charge of explaining away situations such as the one at the Zoo). While none of her husband's family were magical, she had suspected that there was a latent magical talent in their genes – and so was utterly unsurprised when Norman turned out to have the gift of magic.

One day, Norman was re-examining curious letter that had arrived and so shook up his perception of the world. He had already processed the wax seal, checking it in detail as he examined it through his microscope. Quite interestingly, the seal had not melted when put into proximity with his Bunsen burner – if anything, the coat of arms on the seal had become more pronounced – Norman could even swear that at one point the animals had begun to move. Needless to say, the chemistry set that had been built up over years of Christmases and birthdays had never produced such interesting results. Now, however, Norman was studying the sheets of heavy parchment that had been enclosed in the un-franked envelope (which, he had noted, had traces of owly residue). The paper itself was from a high quality reel, and had apparently been custom-cut to size (as the dimensions were ones that he had not yet seen before now). The green-inked writing itself appeared to be hand-written with some-sort of fountain pen and, after a bit of research in the local library, Norman was able to hypothesise that the penmanship suggested a stern yet kind-hearted individual – characteristics which Norman did not mind in his teachers (especially after all of his experience with his aunt). What was most interesting, however, was the _contents_ of the writing. He had no idea where he was supposed to find most of the equipment needed – was there some sort of secret area in John Lewis which, when you mentioned the right word to a certain sales assistant, you would clandestinely be led to through the supposed maintenance closet? Were there whole Narnia-style worlds hiding just behind un-supposing ubiquitous doors? Norman decided that the only person who could tell him would be his aunt. With this in mind the boy purposefully headed towards the kitchen, only to walk in on a conversation between his aunt and mother.

"…I mean really, Austeria, I can understand that the children are excited about being accepted into a prestigious public boarding school, but do you really have to encourage their imaginings of magic and adventure? My little Gnomie is at a critical time in his intellectual development, you know…"

"Susan, how many times do I have to tell you – Hogwarts IS a magical school –"

"Yes, yes – I myself found my own boarding school a magical place, but this isn't Enid Blyton, Teri. Although it was very generous to offer of you to take Gnomie to buy his school supplies tomorrow – it's Fernie's birthday isn't it?" Austeria tried not to wince at the nickname.

"It's no problem, really. I was thinking of taking them both out for a meal afterwards, as a treat-" In the middle of explaining her plans for the trip, Norman's aunt was interrupted by the rather sudden appearance of his father. In whatever situation, no matter what was happening or where he was, Bertie Bond had the ability to draw the attention of all who surrounded him. The star accountant of his company, this tall and shiningly attractive man had always seemed to have an innate talent for picking the most profitable clients, the luckiest wagers, and always seemed to come out on top. Norman often doubted his paternity.

"Dear, Teri has just offered to take Gnomie with her and Fernilia to buy their school supplies." With her husband in the room, Susan's gaze was now locked adoringly on his handsome profile. Norman knew from experience that any sense that might have been extracted from her beforehand would now be impossible to obtain.

"Oh, splendid. Did you say that you'd set up a savings account for little Normie when he was a baby, Austeria?" Bertie's cheerful presence turned its attention on the slightly thrown woman who was unused to such a dazzling personality. Norman, however, was highly impressed at how little time it took her to recover her train of thought.

"Yes indeed, I am his Godmother, after all. Of course, Jeffrey wanted to mark each year with a different animal, but I thought that our nephew would much more appreciate a little money placed each year into a high-interest savings account in his name. I thought that I'd take him to see his funds tomorrow. He won't be allowed to access it all now, but he'll be able to withdraw enough for all his school things plus a little left over for a small treat." This was a revelation for Norman, though not an unpleasant one – to think, on top of his post office account he had _another_ previously unknown stash of savings. The eleven year old boy was suddenly feeling rather rich. His musings over what he could use this money for, however, were interrupted by a rather larger body cannoning into his and enveloping him into a tight hug.

"Normie! Why didn't you say that you were here? You know that I like to be welcomed back with a hug from my little luck-teddy! Did you hear? Auntie Austeria is going to take you supplies shopping tomorrow! Isn't that kind of her?" Norman's father had now pulled away slightly from the outburst and was looking down at his son expectantly. Reddening from embarrassment at his father's actions, Norman turned to his aunt with an automated response.

"Thank you Aunt Austeria for taking me with you and Ferne to buy my school supplies." Austeria gave him a knowing look, as if she had known all along that he had been just outside the door, and also as if she knew his previous discoveries and the reason for his expedition downstairs. His aunt's apparent omniscience scared him sometimes, especially when people told them that Ferne took after her mother just as much as she took after her father.

"It's no problem, Norman. I'll be here to pick you up at nine am sharp – we'll be needing to go into London for most of your supplies and to access your savings account, so don't sleep in. The congestion in London is terrible." Norman had a sinking realisation that, despite the revelation that he, his cousin and his aunt were magical, some things would never change. He swallowed the rising lump in his throat.

"We're…driving?"

"Of course we are, dear, what did you think we would be doing? Flying?" With that, the adults in the room burst into laughter – but Norman did not miss the mischievous glint in his aunt's eyes. Trying to hide his disappointment, Norman turned around and scurried off to find his cousin.

***

After a long and hair-raising car journey (in which Ferne's elbow had once again found its home in Norman's ear), the small blue car had pulled into a multi-storey car park and Austeria had ushered her young charges through what she kept referring to as 'Muggle London' and towards Charing Cross Road. Before reaching Charing Cross, however, they stopped outside what appeared to be a rather generic second-hand bookshop. Ferne, who had apparently made this trip before, led the way through the shiny black doorway, while her mother ushered Norman in and through the shop. A bored-looking worker was sat at the main desk, blankly staring as she worked her way through a massive pile of books; cleaning, checking and ordering the pre-loved tomes. She looked up with a smile when Austeria went to talk to her, exchanging a warm greeting. Ferne, at this point, was hovering impatiently while Norman strained to catch what the two women were saying. The younger woman was leaning from her seat and pointing towards a staircase.

"You'll probably be able to find what you're looking for on the third floor, in the fiction room: that's up that staircase and the first room on the right once you reach the third floor – though the blasted thing's moved around so much lately that I can't be sure…will you be coming back this way?" The young woman looked hopefully towards his aunt, obviously welcoming the interruption to her task, but her face fell at the response she received.

"Sorry, dear – Malkin's is the only place that does the uniforms and I thought I'd take these two to Fortescue's as a treat, it's Fernilia's birthday."

"Oh, that's okay Mrs. B. Ah! Just a second, I think I have something in the back that Ferne might like." The worker momentarily disappeared behind a door, before returning with a soft-leather bound book in her hands, which she presented to the young girl. "Here you go Ferne, happy eleventh birthday!" Ferne excitedly took the book from the woman's hands and flicked through – only to find the pages blank. She looked curiously towards the gift-giver, who began to laugh. "It's a journal – I thought that you might like something to record your field observations in."

"Thanks Liz! You're the best!" Ferne's eyes were once again lit up with excitement and she ran over to show it to her mother, who had let her attention drift to a book about recent natural disasters and freak accidents. Norman wasn't exactly sure who this 'Liz' was, and what her relationship to the Bagleys was, but he was concerned about her encouragement of Ferne's individual pass-time. Perhaps realising some of what going through Norman's mind, Austeria introduced him to the woman.

"Norman, this is Elizabeth – Elizabeth, this is my nephew Norman. Now, I would like to stay and chat longer, but we really must be going." She bid farewell to the young woman and, ignoring the look of confusion that was plastered across her nephew's face, ushered both children up the previously indicated staircase.

Norman reached the third floor out of breath, annoyed by the fast pace that his more athletic younger cousin had set. So far the day had been a puzzle wrapped up in an enigma, and Norman still had no idea where exactly they were headed. Following his relatives into 'the fiction room' didn't help with his confusion either. He was ushered through the shelves of books, navigated around piles of precariously piled books, and led towards the end of an aisle. At the end of the aisle, flanked by bookshelves, was a closed cupboard door.

"Ah, here it is." Norman's aunt looked particularly satisfied with the discovery of this cupboard and hastily approached it before trying the handle. It didn't open. She tried it again – it opened slightly before snapping back shut. "Now see here, door – you better let me through. You know full well that we're not Muggles so stop being stubborn. Fernilia, come and help will you?" Irritation laced her voice and, after a few more minutes of struggling, the door sprung open – causing his aunt and cousin to fall backwards and into a pile of books. Seeing the door start to edge closed, Norman acted quickly and jammed it open with his foot. He could have sworn that he heard the frame creak in defeat. Ferne shouted out in triumph and his aunt treated him to a rare approving look. She stood up and, brushing herself off, gave him an explanation of sorts. "This blasted door causes so much trouble for dear Elizabeth – not only does it like to change position daily, but because of its stubbornness nobody can ever be bothered to use it – the poor girl loses so much business that way. It's the influence of all these books that does it, the stupid thing thinks that it's better than us. That's sapient pearwood for you. Oh well…after you."

Beyond the rather stubborn door (which slammed behind them in satisfaction) lay a rather anti-climatic sight. Instead of the magical, Narnia-like world that Norman had started to anticipate there was another, very similar book filled room. The only difference, that he could ascertain, was that the book titles were all now very similar to the ones on his reading list.

"Right, since we're here we might as well find the books on your list – no point spending money o new books that we could save by buying second hand. Norman, dear, this is Yates' Second-Hand Books – it's run by Elizabeth's family: she takes care of the Muggle side and the rest of them manage this side. Now, run along and find your books – you can pay me back once we've visited the bank."

***

Each with a bag of books, the small group stepped out onto a street that (in Norman's opinion) appeared to belong somewhere else entirely – the only reason that he knew he was still in London was because he could vaguely see the outlines of the more familiar buildings beyond the roofs of the shops that lined the cobbled street. Ferne stood looking bored while Norman drank the sights in – people were dressed in a mixture of familiar and unfamiliar clothing: some wore everyday suits, jeans, t-shirts and skirts – but others were wearing what looked like academic robes with them. Some were even wearing what looked like long, heavy dress-like robes. Trying to wipe the image of an erratic old man in a magenta dress from his mind, Norman listened inventively to his aunt as they walked.

"This is Horizont Alley. It's not the only wizardring shopping district – indeed, we'll also be visiting Diagon Alley to get your robes – but I find that it's a lot less hectic than the others. Right then, we might as well get you're equipment as that shop's closest. Come on Fernilia, don't lag behind."

"But mu-um, it's my birthday. Why can't we go where _I_ want to go?"

"Because, Fernilia, I am your mother and I don't want to waste energy going back and forth between shops." With this, said mother led the way into a brightly lit shop that bore the sign 'Chapman's'. Inside could only be described as a Halloween envisioning of John Lewis – Ferne and Norman were dragged through all the various sections by their matriarchal guide, periodically stopping to be presented with an object to place in their baskets. The next few hours passed this way, moving from shop to shop in the wake of Austeria Bagley and being loaded up with various apparently necessary objects. Norman had mostly tuned out by this point, but was brought back to attention when his aunt mentioned something about 'wands'. They had come to a stall outside a shop called 'n graith lath', and his aunt was in the midst of explaining something to the pair of youngsters.

"Now, quite a few people will tell you that the only wand worth having is an Ollivander's. That's nonsense – the old coot only ever uses three cores and his wands are never truly perfect for the user. Lleu Argall was in my year at school, he always had a talent for crafting things and in my experience his wands always fit the talents of the individual. He'll measure you both and have your wands ready in time for the start of term- don't start Fernilia, you are not having access to a wand any sooner than you need it – in fact, I'm not going to let you hang on to yours until you're safely sat on the Hogwarts Express and under the supervision of trained educators. That applies to you as well Norman – I spend all my working day dealing with magical accidents and I don't want to have them at home too." Tirade finished, Austeria ushered the two into the shop where they underwent a series of obscure and seemingly irrelevant tests. They were then ushered outside and back to their progress along the street.

Norman spent the rest of the day in a sort of semi-trance – intrigued by this new and interesting world, yet completely and utterly bored out of his mind due to the enforced extended shopping trip (his aunt had decided that, as they were there anyway, she might as well get her shopping done as well). They had, at some point, ended up in another alley all together and Norman had been shown into a towering building that had been manned by Goblins – Norman had been presented with money the size of hub-cabs from his account, then given most of it to his aunt in repayment, and they had proceeded to a bustling ice-cream parlour that had been stocked with more interesting flavours than Norman could ever hope to taste. He was now stood impassively in some sort of pet shop as his cousin bartered with her mother over what she was allowed for a birthday present. In the back of the shop a disgruntled man was arguing with the man who was currently manning the desk.

"I would like to register a complaint about this parrot what I purchased not yet an hour ago from this very boutique…" Ferne had heard enough. She turned to her mother, eyes sparkling.

"Mu-um….can I have a parrot?"

***

Ferne, unsurprisingly, had not been allowed a parrot for her birthday. She was, however, allowed to pick out an owl of her choice and use it to carry her correspondence to her parents. She had happened to pick out the scrawniest, most evil looking bird that Norman had ever seen. He had known from the moment that he had set eyes on it that it would hate him with the demonic single-mindedness of a penguin. She called it Polly.

As the remaining time until the start of term passed, a strange feeling had crept upon Norman. It was there when he first opened his letter, and grew as he was introduced shopping districts of the Wizardring world. He had been given a wand* (if not till the very last minute) and interesting new books, clothes and equipment – and now, as he stood on an impossible platform, he finally realised what that feeling was.

Despite his aching ear (which was apparently developing quite the friendship with Ferne's elbow), and despite the strangeness of the situation – he was excited. For the first time in his life Norman Bond would finally be free of Harry Potter…

* * *

*Ivy and Erumpent tusk, 9½", sturdy. Ferne's was Holly and Bowtruckle hair, 10¾", supple and springy.


	4. Chapter Three: BLT Sandwich

Chapter Three – BLT Sandwich

…Or so he had thought.

It had been an hour and a half into the train journey and Norman still hadn't shut up. Ferne was used to the boy's perpetual complaints, especially on the subject of a certain scarred individual, yet even she couldn't tune all of his wheedling tone out. It was always the same tirade and Ferne was starting to get just a little sick of it. If anything, the revelation that he was a wizard should have been enough to turn Norman's mind to greater things. Apparently not.

Granted, that your semi-nemesis had appeared on the same impossible platform and heading for the same supposedly-secret wizarding school, together with the horrible realisation that you were going to be spending the next seven years with a boy you had thought you wouldn't have to see ever again, would all be a bit of a shock to say the least. The look of horror and overwhelming despair which had clouded Norman's face had almost made Ferne feel sorry for him. Almost, yet the possibility of pitying her wretched cousin lessened with every word he said.

Norman tossed his head, curls swinging and bouncing with the movement. This wasn't good, he was starting again.

"I mean, it's not even as if he needs-"

"Hey Norman!" Ferne interjected, ignoring the look of utter indignation spreading across her cousin's chubby face. He stared at her expectantly, suspiscious of her motives for interruption. In truth, Ferne didn't have any idea what to do or say but if she didn't come up with something quick, Norman would start talking again.

The snack trolley trundled past and Ferne had a brainwave.

"Let's explore the train, Norman! It must be huge, right? And we've hardly been on trains."

Norman sighed and wrinkled his nose "Oh, Ferne, there's nothing to explore though. There'll only be a lot of people all sitting in carriages just like we are. Besides _he_ might be there..." The boy's face darkened considerably and began to scrunch into the acute mix of fear and constipation Ferne, with her usual peculiar brand of humour, had lovingly dubbed his 'Potty' face. The usual rant was threatening to raise its ugly head.

"Come on, it'll be fun," she said hurriedly "we might meet someone interesting."

This was not terribly persuasive. In Norman's experience, 'interesting' usually meant something furry or scaly and walking preferably though not exclusively on all fours.

His face set grumpily "Well, you can go on your own then"

It was the kind of statement which was meant to make the listener stay, whether out of fear of going anywhere on their own or out of guilt for leaving the speaker alone. However Ferne, completely enamoured of the idea that she could find some fascinating friend (read specimen) and determined not to be manipulated into listening to another tedious monologue, simply jumped to her feet and made for the door.

"Later then, Norm!"

Once out in the corridor however, she stopped and waited. After about a minute came sounds of someone hurriedly and clumsily scrambling to their feet and the compartment door was thrown open with a bang.

"Wait for me, Fer-!"

Norman glared at his wickedly grinning cousin.

***

If she was to be perfectly honest with herself, the train was pretty boring. It was all Ferne could do to keep Norman from returning to the sole topic of conversation in his head. This was made particularly difficult by the sudden sway of the Hogwarts Express at each bend and turn of the tracks, sending the both of them crashing into the walls. And so nursing several bruises and a limp Ferne gave up directing Norman's attention towards the admittedly beautiful but terribly dreary scenery on the other side of the window. Often this was with their faces squashed against the glass as the train sped around yet another corner- it wasn't really bringing Norman round to this whole 'explore the train' thing. So Ferne gave up and simply let him tag along behind, the ever-constant complaints trailing in their wake.

At times they would meet other students, though conversation never seemed to be easily started. Once they were forced to squeeze up against a compartment door, Ferne with considerably more success than Norman, to allow two hyper red-headed twins rush past them. Another time, a wiry, bespectacled boy with mousy brown hair strode past them muttering under his breath.

"I don't understand it, I don't understand it, why can't they see that the circuit breaker is a valuable piece of equipment..."

He had knocked into Norman and hadn't even seemed to notice.

***

Ferne was starting to wonder if they would ever reach the end of the train and Norman was starting to wonder if they'd ever get round to eating, when a blonde, round-faced boy cannoned out of the door dividing the carriages and knocked Ferne over. She then fell back into Norman and the three of them collapsed in a heap. The boy pushed himself up on his palms. He looked tearful.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. You wouldn't happen to have seen a toad anywhere, would you? Only I've lost him! Trevor _always_ goes missing..."

Ferne's ears pricked up. A missing animal? Now this was more like it. She opened her mouth excitedly and felt a pudgy hand slam over it before she could form any sounds.

"Sorry," came Norman's bored voice from behind her, "We're trying to find the eating trolley. We haven't seen a toad anywhere."

"The trolley?!" Ferne exploded as Norman stood, dragging her with him.

He waved to the plump boy who was now sat by himself on the floor.

"Good luck finding him." He pulled his cousin through the carriage doors as she protested loudly and at great length. He could just hear the faint calls of 'Trevor, Trevor!' echoing from the carriage they had just left. The trolley couldn't be that far ahead of them now. His stomach grumbled and he stuck the hand not gripping a grumbling girl into his pocket to check for the strange coins they had got from that strange wizard bank. They clinked reassuringly in his pocket. Norman wasn't exactly certain how much the witch would want for some food but he was certain he probably had enough. If it was in any way equivalent to pounds, Dudley Dursley would have long relieved Norman of their bulky weight. Norman fervently wished there were no 'Dudley's at this Hogwarts place -Harry Potter was bad enough- but he was realistic enough to admit to himself that there probably were.

As if simply to reiterate this point two large and particularly stupid-looking boys came walking down the corridor towards them. It took a couple of minutes before Norman realised there was a smaller ratty-faced boy leading them. In the time-honoured tradition of the long-bullied, he began to shake. There was a comforting pat on his back as Ferne forgave him for just long enough to reassure him.

"Let's go back, Ferne" Norman whispered, eyeing up the very large bodies of the very obvious henchmen.

"No way, Norman. You were the one who wanted to get to the trolley, remember?"

Norman thought this was delivered with far more spite than was truly necessary.

"I've changed my mind." He muttered hurriedly.

"Norman, you can't run all the time." Ferne said with the definite emphasis of the never-bullied.

Luckily the boys seemed deep in conversation. Well, as much as a monologue and grunting can be called a conversation. They passed each other without incident. And when the carriage door rattled shut behind them, Norman had to stop to steady his shaking knees. A hand clapped softly on his shoulder and squeezed it.

"Come on," Ferne said, "Let's go find the trolley."

***

Norman let his cousins animal-related complaints wash over him as he bit dubiously into a pumpkin pasty. It wasn't that bad- he chewed and swallowed carefully before taking another, larger, bite. In the carriage in front of him a bushy haired girl seemed to be talking at a much smaller girl reading a book. He deliberately thought 'talking at' as the smaller girl appeared to have pushed herself as tightly into a corner of the carriage as possible. Everything about her body language screamed defensive- the book was raised directly in front of her face like a barrier and her short black hair fell over her eyes partly obscuring them from view. Despite this, the bushy haired girl was sat right up next to her and talked on and on. Perhaps she really hadn't noticed, Norman wondered.

***

They were just making their way back towards their carriage when a voice echoed through the train: 'We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately.' Two girls pushed past them, already dressed in the school robes and strolled unhurriedly in the other direction. One of them was holding what seemed suspiciously like a permanent marker.

(It couldn't be of course, what would such a distinctly normal object be doing on a train bound for what Norman was told was one of the most prestigious wizarding schools in Europe?)

Ferne and Norman looked at each other and then at their respective normal clothing. They looked at each other once more and, in unison, began running down the corridor.

***

Really, it was overwhelming. Norman gaped at the monstrosity of a building that loomed out of the mists. It was so large that Norman completely forgot to be surprised by the size of the very hairy man calling them over to the start of a steep narrow and dark path. Norman wondered nervously why they weren't just following the rest of the students who were looking over their shoulders whispering. A few were giggling. Norman knew from experience that was _never _a good sign. Perhaps the rumour that the giant ate talentless first-years was true. When he hesitantly ventured this to Ferne however, she dismissed the suggestion derisively.

"Don't be silly, Norman. He's not big enough to be a giant, he can only be half at most."

Norman rather thought she was missing his point.

They had reached the end of the narrow path. Before them was a great expanse of black water Norman could only suppose must be a lake. He eyed it with suspicion only looking up when he heard a collective exclamation from the front of the group. Directly across the water was a vast castle, its many windows twinkling in the starry sky. It sat on top of a high mountain which Norman thought was quite thoughtless of the people who had built it. They would probably have to _climb_ that at some point, in Physical Education or whatever they had as a substitute.

The students lined up about a foot from the shore, it was easy to tell which children were muggle born and which wizarding. Though all of them were plainly awe-struck, the wizarding children were evidently trying their very hardest to not look as if they were, leading to such stupid comments as 'Oh yes, got one in my garden...'

Norman stared at the boy who said this. "You have a _castle_ in your _garden_." Maybe he was hearing things, stupefied as he was by the sudden scenery change and the strange boats he was most reluctant to get into.

The boy, slightly weaselly looking and freckled, suddenly seemed to realise the enormous idiocy of what he'd said. "Well, obviously it's a little smaller...and you know...there are space-diman...dimension spells on it..."

They looked away from each other in an effort to pretend stupidity hadn't happened. Their efforts were futile.

"No more'n four to a boat!" The students began meekly shuffling forward. Norman wondered if he'd be able to sneak back the way they had come. He was certain he would fall into that water and never be seen again. It would be best to do it now as the first few students began to step gingerly into a fleet of little boats. He heard a horribly familiar voice behind him asking someone called 'Ron' a question. He froze mid-reverse. A rock and a hard place.

"C'mon now, c'mon now." A meaty giant of a hand clapped down on Norman's shoulder, he didn't bother pretending this didn't hurt. But his squeals of pain were drowned out by the large hairy man's speech. "Look sharp. Gotta get to the castle, inna boat wi' you."

What was probably supposed to be a light push but seemed to have the force of a tidal wave propelled Norman into the nearest boat. He could hear the annoying voice of the bushy-haired girl from earlier squeaking out 'wasn't that dangerous?' and whether he was alright. He ignored her. The boat already had one passenger. Norman flushed. Great, it would be a girl who would get a close-up of his humiliating entry. Luckily, she didn't seem to even take any notice of him. He straightened up and brushed his clothes off; only to wobble as the boat rocked from the force of Ferne's leap into it.

"Ferne!"

"Sorry Norm-y." She didn't sound at all sorry.

"Right," the giant boomed, "On'y one more, on'y- eh? Ne'er mind, nex' boat."

Norman swivelled round to look towards the shore. He might have spent most of his school-life terrified out of his skull but he had been able to pick up simple arithmetic. But the giant was already waving the disappointed looking bush-head towards another boat. Suddenly he caught sight of all too familiar messy hair and turned back to the boat hastily. Sitting next to the first unknown girl (still staring out over the lake with the first real look of boredom Norman had seen for a while) was a second person who he recognised - the small dark-haired girl, complete with book in front of her face. He stared and continued to stare as Ferne used the back of his robes to drag him down into his seat. When had _she _got there?

***

Close to, the castle was even more enormous than it had seemed at first. Of course, Norman knew this was only to be expected with the laws of perspective. But this seemed to be taking those laws and wringing them out to their utmost. He frowned at it, already in a bad mood. He had ducked too late when coming through the cliff opening getting a mouth full of ivy and had skinned his elbow when he slipped in the passageway. He had slipped again when they had stepped onto the grass and now his new jeans had mud all over the knees. It was not a terribly brilliant first impression. The giant man who had escorted them ushered them up the stone steps into a little cluster around the large oak front door. He appeared to do a quick headcount (Norman wondered if they often lost children) and then thumped on the castle door three times.

The students clumped together as the door swung open immediately, wizarding children having abandoned all pretences, a small gaggle of gaping mouths and wide eyes. This appeared not to include his cousin, who was currently inspecting some sort of strange insect she'd found. Following past experience Norman decided not to look at it too closely, lest it bit, scratched, stung or in any other way harmed his delicate body. He directed his attention instead to the tall black-haired woman who was talking to the giant. The door had opened so quickly that she must have been standing right behind it. Perhaps she was a door-keeper of some sort. Or perhaps not, he thought quickly, catching sight of the woman's stern expression. Not someone to cross. The woman turned and strode into what looked like a very large hall. The students quickly followed bunching together far closer than they would have done normally. They were led into a small chamber, far too small for the number of them - he could only blame the rising birth rate - where the woman started talking authoritatively about Houses and points and cups and something about triumph. Norman tried to listen attentively but it was tricky when he had someone's elbow in his ear, was trying not to breathe too deeply because someone smelled and Ferne was muttering incessantly in his other ear about needing more room for 'Layton'. He could only assume she meant the insect. Suddenly Norman screamed and a few other people followed suit as a legion of pale slightly transparent ghosts came floating through the wall talking amongst themselves. They began talking to a couple of terrified looking kids. Norman could only gape. He was still gaping when a sudden commotion started up behind him.

"I know it was you!" came a vehement hiss. Norman couldn't help but drag his eyes away from where the ghosts were now disappearing to look behind him. Even Ferne redirected her attention.

The rat-faced boy from the train was glaring poisonously at a dark-haired girl who was slightly taller than he was. Behind her was an even taller girl with green eyes and an expression which reminded Norman of a fox's.

The first girl smirked. "Don't know what you're talking about, Draco."

"It wouldn't come off! I had to get one of the upper years to perform a scouring charm _on my face_! They wouldn't stop laughing at me!" Draco seemed to be working himself into some sort of apoplexy. "I'm going to be the laughing stock of Slytherin for the rest of my _life_!"

"There's still hope yet," The girl seemed to be struggling not to laugh, "you'll probably be sorted into Hufflepuff after all."

Norman stared at the furious blonde boy. His face was bright pink. By the lobe of his ear and in pale grey streaks across his face there seemed to be remnants of what could only be permanent marker pen. (He thought back to the train and the two girls who had- no, surely not...) The boy whipped his head round to look at him and sneered, obviously pleased to be offered weaker prey.

"What are you looking at, mudblood?"

Norman remembered the two hulking grunts the boy had following him on the train and turned away quickly. "Nothing." He muttered. Ferne however remained glaring at the blonde. "Mudblood!"She cried indignantly, "How dare you...at least he isn't an inbred little weasel!"

Luckily the sharp voice of the dark-haired professor (she could only be a professor with a voice and face like that) came cutting through the room before Draco could set his goons on them.

"Now, form a line," The professor barked, "And follow me."

Somehow feeling as if they were being led to their respective dooms, the first-years did. Norman's only plea to whatever entity might or might not be watching over him was that at least this time, _this time_, he wouldn't have to worry about Harry Potter.


End file.
